


the never ending cold

by apaio



Series: all my energy [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Getting Together, Hot Space Era, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, eventually, i'd say it's hatesex but they don't. actually hate each other lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaio/pseuds/apaio
Summary: He’s riled up, muscles tense and spoiling for a fight. He’s not so much as angry as just agitated, like the tension of the past couple of weeks is finally coming to a head. Less so can be said for-“Brian,” he gasps as fingernails scrape at his hips.





	the never ending cold

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote this. i have no defence. sorry.
> 
> warning of a slight consent issue that is quickly resolved. sorry for any spelling mistakes etc.? lmk and i'll correct them.
> 
> sort of an au where they don’t have wives/kids whatever

The fact of the matter is that the situation is not ideal. There’s a shelf digging uncomfortably into John’s lower back, and whatever had been on it before he’d been pushed into it is scattered beneath their feet on the floor. The room – more of a cupboard, really – is stuffy, dark, and its door is shut by only the latch and a chair pushed haphazardly against it.

Teeth scrape against his neck, fingers against his stomach as his jeans are undone and pushed down. The rustle of fabric agitates his straining cock and he pushes his hips forward, desperate for some form of contact. Hands push them straight back against the shelf and he huffs a breath in frustration.

He’s riled up, muscles tense and spoiling for a fight. He’s not so much as angry as just agitated, like the tension of the past couple of weeks is finally coming to a head. Less so can be said for-

“Brian,” he gasps as fingernails scrape at his hips.

Brian looks at him, and John can still see the fire in his eyes when he does.

There have been more fights between them over this album than John can remember over their entire history together. Perhaps that’s because he’s actually involved himself in them unlike the early days, but John can say honestly that they’re certainly more vicious than ever.

It had been the worst one yet between them, Freddie and Roger already having pissed off, an argument in the corridor quickly devolving into personal insults about Brian’s song-writing and John’s position in the band. He’s surprised that neither of them threw a punch, in fact he was sure he would.

Instead, some primal and frankly incompetent part of his brain – possibly the same part that holds onto some unresolved early feelings for a certain guitarist – had kissed Brian right there in the hallway.

He’d backed off immediately, apologised, but Brian’s fist scrunched the front of his t-shirt and pulled him back in. John was loosely aware – past the tongue in his mouth and the hair clenched in his hand – that they were rather out in the open, kissing in the corridor of a fucking recording studio. He pushed Brian against the wall, their lips barely parting as he opened the door to a room he seems to recall having old equipment in.

Brian took the cue, pressing him backwards and into the room. He had pushed him back into the shelves inside as he shut the door and pushed the chair against it.

John’s felt like he’s had more control over the music of the band in the past few weeks than he has in a long time, and as Brian continues to crowd him into the wall behind him, he finds he misses it. He places his hands firmly on Brian’s hips, flipping him around to swap their positions.

Brian looks surprised, briefly. John reaches undoes the zip to Brian’s jeans, and pushes them slightly down off his hips. He takes his cock in his hand, watching as Brian struggles to control his expression with slight amusement.

He doesn’t stifle the smirk that rises to his lips as he drops to his knees and Brian fails to control it at all.

“Have you done this before?” John asks him as the thought arises.

Brian frowns.

“With a man,” he specifies.

Brian wets his lips. “No,” he says. “Have you?”

The answer’s yes, a long time ago, but John just shrugs and takes Brian entirely in his mouth. He’s out of practice – though he was never really _in_ practice – and he nearly gags, but the startled gasp and following moan Brian lets out is worth it. He can see Brian’s hand scratch against the wall, and John knows that at that moment everything is under his control. He bobs his head a couple of times, getting used to the feel.

John looks up, and Brian stares at him with something akin to awe. A hand twists in his hair, no real grip, and John thinks– no matter how angry Brian gets, he’s still Brian. Though they both may have forgotten it in recent times with their constant conflict, Brian is still the same considerate and respectful friend underneath it all.

There is a good chance that he’s a little bit in love with Brian. It’s been that way for years, and it’s generally something John sets aside, never to act on. Even now, he doesn’t believe there to be any chance of them going somewhere. Fucking in a cramped and stale room is hardly the foundation of anything more than that. He’s a little bit in love with Brian, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been rightfully peeved off and frustrated with him over the course of their latest album.

But looking up at Brian’s softer expression, John feels his own frustrations temper slightly.

It is with great trust in that fact that John lets go of Brian’s hips, confident that despite everything, he won’t push him too far. They need this, John thinks, some way to let go of all the stress between them. He takes one hand to aid his efforts, pressing back into Brian’s hand where it rests on the back of his head.

Brian thrusts suddenly, and he gags, pulling away on impulse. He feels Brian’s hand begin to leave his hair, but he grabs it and places it where it was, pushing at his fingers so they clench in his curls. John hums against his cock and digs his fingers into the back of Brian’s thighs.

Brian hisses in response, and the soft gaze he’d had before closes off, like he’d remembered what had led them to this moment, with John on his knees on the dingy floor of some cupboard in a recording studio. John can almost feel the tension return to Brian’s body beneath his hands. The moment is broken, and Brian’s other hand twists in his hair as well.

It’s like this when they’re writing, when they’re recording. Both of them battling for control, uncompromising and heated. Brian is deeply stubborn and though he pretends he isn’t, quite vain. John isn’t entirely innocent, he knows, both pushing and instigating a lot of their clashes. Recently, John’s come out on top in the studio, and he thinks Brian might hate him a little bit for it. He often acts like it.

In this moment, though, John is almost doing no work. Brian’s moving his head for him, setting his own rhythm, and John feels his eyes water. He feels like Brian’s working out his problems with him into his throat.

Suddenly, he’s pulled off, and his throat feels raw. Brian kisses him, hard against swollen lips, and pushes him against the wall behind them.

“I want to fuck you,” he tells him.

John blinks. Brian doesn’t move for a beat, and he realises he’s asking. “O-okay,” he croaks, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest.

Brian looks around for something on the various shelves. John feels a little dazed and can’t work out what for, but Brian leans past him and grabs a tub of Vaseline. He watches him take a generous out onto his fingers, rubbing it smoothly on his cock. He turns John around, pressing his face against the wall. He works his jeans further down his legs.

John feels Brian press against him, hands on his hips like he’s lining up. John’s only done this once before, many years ago, but he knows he needs more than Brian just brazenly pushing his way into him. He isn’t ready, and he knows that if he isn’t the experience will be nowhere close to pleasant.

“Wait,” he rasps.

Brian doesn’t stop, and kicks his legs apart.

John pushes him back, trying to slow him down, but he doesn’t. “Wait, Brian,” he says more firmly.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Brian tells him quietly but decisively, and John can feel his cock press against him. Something like panic rises within him, and he thinks it irrational.

“Brian, fucking stop!” he says, and he hates the way his voice tremors. He knows Brian will listen, reminding himself of the man who has been his friend for over a decade. There isn’t a chance of anything happening, he tells himself. Brian wouldn’t-

Brian wouldn’t. Brian doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him around to face him, cupping his jaw with a hand much more gentle than John expects. He thinks there may still be some anger left in his eyes, but it’s overridden with worry.

“Are you alright?” he asks. A thumb brushes against his cheek with more tenderness than someone he’s been antagonising for the past month should have, and he ignores the surge of _something_ in his chest.  “I'm sorry. Do you want to-”

John knows he’s about to be asked if he wants to stop, and he shakes his head. “I’m fine, I just- you can’t just, you know, go in,” he says, offering a smile to reassure the man who’s still looking unsure. He presses their hips together and Brian gasps, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “You need to stretch me first.”

Brian seems cowed, though, and however endearing John might find that, it would feel like a bit of an anti-climax. He passes the Vaseline back to him, pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s soft, barely more than a peck, before he snakes a hand up to clench a fist in Brian’s hair.

“Come on, you medium talent,” he says. He’s joking of course, and he’s sure Brian must know it too, but it does its job and he finds himself turned back with his face against the wall.

He hears the lid come off the Vaseline again, and he flinches in surprise when a cold finger slips into him with relative ease. It is soon replaced by two, and Brian hooks his fingers inside him. Before he can stop it, he lets out a breathy moan against the wall. It earns him Brian’s teeth on his ear as he scissors his fingers, and John clenches his fingers against the inconveniently placed shelf.

Brian works his way up to four fingers, and John aches for more. “Get on with it,” he says hoarsely.

Brian does, and he barely even has time to miss the absence of his fingers before Brian pushes into him with little warning. He gasps and braces his hands against the wall in front of him. It’s tight and uncomfortable and John clenches his eyes shut and tries to school his breathing, getting used to the feeling.

He can feel breath on his neck.

“Okay?” Brian whispers in his ear, which is awfully considerate of him.

John nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Move.”

Though he starts almost cautious, Brian soon works up a rhythm. One of his hands is on John’s hip, pulling him onto him with each thrust, and the other looped in his hair. It holds him in the right angle that every rough movement forces air out of John’s lungs, sending a charge up his spine.

One of the few parts of John’s brain that’s still thinking realises that he’s relinquished all control he had of the situation, and maybe this one is Brian’s victory. Makes a change to how it’s been in recording recently.

John’s close, tension building in his gut and noises he has no control over coming out of his mouth. Brian seems to realise it too, and the hand on his hip moves to grasp his cock. He pushes deeply with each thrust, letting the movement move his hand, and it only takes a few more seconds for John to spill into his hand, a shaky sound escaping his throat.

The hand in John’s hair lets go, both hands returning to his hips and Brian continues. John moans from overstimulation against the wall, his forehead pressed against the wallpaper.

Brian comes inside him with a cut-off moan, like it’s taken him by surprise. John finds himself grumbling unintelligibly about not asking him, but Brian pulls out and pulls his trousers up for him. John turns around to face him, feeling rather unstable on his legs, watching Brian tuck himself away.

“Um,” he says.

“Um,” Brian replies.

They stare at each other for a moment and John realises _fuck, they really just did that_. Something anxious settles in his stomach. “I’d love to stay and chat,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t make much difference. “But I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Brian says, as if he’s surprised. He looks like he might apologise for a moment, but he doesn’t.

“See you tomorrow, Brian.” John aims for casual, but he isn’t quite sure he pulls it off as he brushes past Brian’s shoulder and tries not to look like he’s rushing out of the room.

*

Pretty much ignoring John for the next few days is, admittedly, not his best move. He blanks him when he tries to talk the next day. He tries to ignore the sheepish glances John shoots him across the room, or how he winced the day after when he sat down, or how Freddie asked him if he was getting a cold when he spoke. He also tries to ignore the hickeys he can see on John’s chest when he leans forward, and tries to forget the matching ones on his neck.

When John kissed him, he didn’t even think before pulling him back and shoving him into a cupboard. He was decisively _not_ thinking the entire time. There’d be consequences to it, and he never even considered them.

Before that evening, every time he’d looked at John he’d felt a rumble of anger in his gut. It was of course a more recent thing, but had been getting increasingly worse from the moment John told him he didn’t want any guitar on his songs. Now, though, he feels something twist in his heart and a strange sense of guilt.

Brian hasn’t had the chance – or has been avoiding the chance – to unpack what happened. For someone who’s never even considered a man like that, it is distinctly problematic to his identity to even consider it for more than a few minutes. He tries to think back to how he feels about John, particularly before all this happened, and he ignores the pull at his heart long enough to pretend it answers nothing.

He thinks both of them have mellowed out a little since. Perhaps that’s why they both did it, to work out their frustrations in a way words cannot suffice. He’s a little more willing to stick with the band and work on his own songs, and John isn’t arguing with him over the intricacies. He’s back to his quieter self, but it feels off.

Freddie’s always been the one a little over-protective of John, and is the other member of the band supporting the new direction they’re heading in.

It does, therefore, come as a surprise that he isn’t the one to confront him a week after.

“What have you done to Deaky?” Roger asks him sharply.

“What?” he asks, looking up from where he sits fiddling with the tuning pegs of his guitar.

Roger looks at him like he’s stupid. “Don’t get me wrong, Bri, I’m glad we’re arguing less but-” he cuts himself off.

“But?”

“You didn’t upset him did you?” he asks. Brian doesn’t answer. “Only because he doesn’t seem happy. He doesn’t even seem angry over things that were getting him going last week.” Roger leans against the wall behind him. “He looks sad when he doesn’t think anyone else is there.”

The familiar feeling of guilt churns in his stomach. He isn’t entirely sure why, or why John’s even unhappy, but his emotions are hardly the most sensible in their occurring.

Brian clenches his jaw and turns his attention back to his guitar. “Why do you think I did something?”

“Because I didn’t,” he replies. “Fred wouldn’t. And he’s been in the studio most hours of the day, I really doubt he’s seen anyone else.”

He feels his shoulders slump. He doesn’t really have any defence or lie prepared. “So what if I did?”

Something twitches in Roger’s jaw. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Brian, but he is quite an integral part of the band.” He pauses. “What did you do?”

“Rog,” he warns. He subconsciously rubs a hand against the hickey on his neck.

“Did you fuck him?” Roger asks.

“W-what?” Brian replies, straightening up in shock. “Where did that come from?”

Roger gives him a joking smile. “Like you haven’t noticed the rampant sexual tension that’s been hanging in the air these past few weeks.”

Brian stares, blanches. He tries to say something, but finds he can’t.

“Oh, shit,” he says, smile dropping off his face. “You did.”

He just runs a hand over his face, slumping once more.

“It’s okay, Bri,” Roger adds cautiously, like he’s trying to work out why Brian’s upset. “It doesn’t bother me. You know it won’t bother Fred either.”

“That’s not it,” Brian says. At least not all of it.

For once, Roger doesn’t seem to know what to say, and just continues to stand awkwardly.  “What is it, then?” he asks after a moment.

“I’m not queer, Rog,” he says softly.

“Brian,” Roger warns.

“Gay,” Brian corrects. “Whatever.”

He hears Roger sigh, lifting his head to watch him pull over a stool and sit down opposite him. “Do you have feelings for him?”

“No,” he answers too quickly. “I don’t know.”

“Why’d you do it?” Roger asks, like he’s trying to pry any information out of Brian.

“We were fighting,” Brian replies. “It just happened.”

Roger snorts. “What, you tripped and fell into him?”

Brian glares, but there isn’t much anger behind it. “It was the heat of the moment.” He thinks for a moment when Roger doesn’t mock him. A question comes to mind. “Do you think he has feelings for me?”

Roger laughs.

“What?”

“Of course he does,” he explains. “He has done for years. Thinks he’s being discreet. I guess he is, if you haven’t noticed. Less can be said for me and Fred, though.”

Brian finds himself just staring.

“Why do you think he’s been clashing with you more than the rest of us over this?” he asks. “He values your opinion more than ours.”

Brian pinches his brow. “Jesus.”

“Do you, you know,” Roger says vaguely, “feel the same?” It’s the same question as before, but it’s less confrontational.

Brian thinks. He thinks about John, before all of this. His talent, his easy presence, his quietly sharp sense of humour. He thinks, and for the first time, he doesn’t ignore the pull at his heart. He doesn’t ignore how the week before was possibly the best sex he’s ever had, how he wants to do it again, and how he wants nothing more than for things to go back to normal between them, back to how they’ve been for years.

“Yes,” he admits quietly. It feels like the end of the world.

“Then you should tell him,” Roger says softly.

Brian stays sat, mulling over his realisation.

Roger stands and places a hand on his shoulder. “Just…sort it out so we can finish this fucking album, alright?” He tightens his grip in reassurance for a moment before he leaves Brian alone.

*

Brian comes in early the next morning. Roger and Freddie aren’t morning people, so he’s sure that if anyone’s in the studio it’ll be John and John alone. The walk to the room seems to drag on forever, and Brian can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He’s right. John sits alone on a stool he thinks belongs to the piano, tuning his bass. He looks good, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone further down than is sensible. His curly hair catches the yellow light of the room in a way that makes it look almost red, and it highlights his silhouette. His face is deep in concentration as he fiddles, and Brian can’t help but think he looks good. A bit of an understatement, really.

Brian opens the door cautiously, and when John doesn’t look up, he knocks the door as he enters.

“Hey,” he says, and it feels a bit useless.

John looks up. Several emotions cross over his face in quick succession, few of them good, and it makes Brian’s heart clench. He settles on confused. “Hey.”

“Can we talk?” Brian asks, walking over slowly.

“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure.

Brian gestures to the space on the seat next to him, and John shuffles the other way to make the space bigger. He puts his bass down, leaning it against the wall behind them as Brian sits down.

It’s the closest he’s been to John for days, and he feels as if every atom of his being is pulling him towards at least resting his shoulder against John’s own. He resists it, not sure if it’ll be quite welcome given the week that’s been.

“I’m sorry,” Brian says, staring at his hands.

“Why?” John asks. “You didn’t…We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not apologising for that,” he replies softly, still not looking up. “I don’t think it was a mistake.” Maybe he would have preferred it to happen in a different way, something more tender and less incensed, but he doesn’t want to get into it now. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I feel a bit like,” he pauses, “I don’t know. That I used you or something. It was…quite shitty of me.”

“Yes,” John says, and Brian looks up in surprise. A smile is playing on his lips, and Brian feels immediately more at ease. “Continue,” he says, gesturing.

“Right,” he says. “I’ve done some things and said some things I shouldn’t have done. I’m not saying it’s all my fault,” he adds, “but I haven’t been my best. And I am sorry.”

John looks at him softly.

Brian has to look away, unsure if he’ll be able to continue if he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath. “What happened…” he trails off. “I liked it. I guess I’ve been struggling with that a bit but...”

John is still looking at him with that same soft expression, and despite everything that’s happened, Brian knows what he’s about to say is absolutely true.

“I have feelings for you,” he says. He thinks he wants to say something else, but everything seems to stop there. He meets John’s eyes.

“I have feelings for you,” John echoes quietly.

Relief like nothing Brian’s ever felt rushes over him.

“I’m sorry too,” John says.

Brian stares at him. An apology wasn’t quite what he was expecting.

“I still think I’m right,” he says with a slight grin, “but I don’t think I’ve handled it particularly well.”

“Can I kiss you?” Brian asks abruptly, like his brain has no filter controlling what he says and what he thinks, and he immediately winces.

But John looks at him, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw, and presses his lips to Brian’s. It’s tender, gentle, nothing like before, and Brian’s heart leaps. “You can do anything you want to me.”

It’s a stupidly attractive thing to say, and while another part of Brian twitches at that, he can’t resist. “What about your music?”

“Off limits,” John replies with a grin before pressing another kiss to his lips.


End file.
